Rasgon and the Slayer
by Jack Brocket
Summary: Buffy has a new shadow. A very mysterious one who tends to save her butt . Who is he, and what happens when she finds out? No OCs; may become M later.
1. A Mysterious One

**[Right, so here is the teaser/prologue. Very short, but aren't prologues like that?**

**Setting is omewhere between 'Band Candy' and 'Revelations' in season three; after Buffy meets Ripper but before her friends find out Angel is back... Forgive any inconsistencies concerning chronology; I wrote this more to get it out of my head (you should have seen me. I was obsessed for months.) than to make it good. If you spot issues, please tell me.**

**Happy reading**

**~ W]**

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'Shall we get started,' the masked man drawled, everything in his posture indicating utter boredom, 'or would you prefer to blather at me for another hour or so?'

The demon who was blathering, the obvious ringleader, gave an affected sigh. He touched a massive burnt-orange claw delicately to his temple as though in moral pain. 'Have you no appreciation for the finer things in life?'

'Fine wines, for example? A good cigar? No, not really. I prefer the grittier face of life.'

'I can see that.' Said the demon distastefully, regarding the figure before him. He was, predictably, all in black, cloaked and masked and sporting an array of weapons on his sheath belt. The weapons were all old but not stylishly so, their blades dull and scratched. And his garb, instead of more attractive silk or satin, was crass leather. 'Haven't you got anything with more... class?'

'Course. They're for the big fish.'

Before the demon could even register the insult, he was on them. There were twelve demons altogether, but three of them weren't worth their own hides and crept off into the tunnels to avoid getting skinned. The nine remaining were unused to fighting as a group, resulting in a very haphazard assault, through which the human sliced without effort. Compared with the demons his technique was almost elegant, his sword and dagger working in unison, dancing in and around his opponents like an elf among trolls. He dispatched all within three minutes.

'New record, I should say,' He commented as though on the weather when it was done, wiping the blue fluid from his blades. 'I didn't even break a sweat. Perhaps next time you might choose your minions with a little more care.'

The ringleader was sprawled in the dirt, gasping and clutching his middle. On this particular species, the human knew, this was where the vital organ, the kraa, was located. The demon stared up with nothing less that loathing.

'I wish to know your name.'

'What for? You'll probably die the next minute or so.'

'So that I can set the furies of hell on you.'

The human laughed. 'I like that. My name is Rasgon. I'd ask you yours, but regrettably I

must be elsewhere. Good day.'

'It's not day.' The demon wheezed hatefully, for lack of a better retort. But the human was gone.

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Buffy was making the rounds. Well, more like she was camped out in the cemetery, studying for her SATs by flashlight. It had been a slow night thus far. Usually one dim-witted dead guy or other lurched into view every few minutes – they never seemed to learn – but tonight there had been nothing for several hours. Moreover, her instincts weren't twitching that special twitch that meant something was wrong with the world. It was just an honest, innocent, slow night.

Not that this was any more fun. She was doing the math section in the SAT book, which was nearly as gargantuan as one of Giles's demon tomes, and Buffy was bored out of her mind. She had no idea what half of these questions were asking, and more often than not she couldn't even remember what a given term meant. Number 213 for example:

213. **A and B are both positive integers. **

**(a^1/2 x b^1/3)^6=432. What is ab?**

Say _what_?

It was as she tapped her number two pencil against the page, staring in frustration at question 213, that the first vampire approached. She felt it in her gut long before she heard it, and had back-flipped to the top of the nearest headstone and stabbed it with her number two pencil before the SAT book had time to flop closed.

She looked at the pencil and its nonexistent tip. 'Darn. No more math for me.'

The second and third vampires came at roughly the same time. Sometimes that happened. She fought them off easily, this time with an actual Mr. Pointy, but her gut knew that there were more approaching.

'Man, you guys don't stop coming!' she commented, dusting the third, but by then there were two more to replace it. They seemed to double each time she killed one. Maybe there was a spell thingy going on here, like with Hercules and the big multiheaded snake guy that grew three more heads for every one Hercules sliced.

'Okay. Maybe needing another approach here.' It had been a while since she'd been faced with enough enemies to be forced to retreat, and she didn't like it. But it was so much better to pick them of in small groups and not break a nail than to face a big old mob of them and get all slicey and dicey. Buffy started planning her escape.

That was when she heard a sword joined the fray. At first her heart leapt, figuring it was Angel, but the sounds of this one's fighting were different. Less chop-and-go, more stay-and-utterly-defeat. The hordes seemed to thin, and after a while Buffy got a fleeting opportunity to see her PA.

Whoa. He moved like a figure skater, or a vampire himself, with a lithe catlike grace, exuding a confidence she'd rarely seen, a confidence that denoted a long familiarity with weapons and his own body. Hard and wiry, his cloak snapping nicely in the air with every move he made, he was the picture of male beauty. She wondered, as she stabbed two vamps at once and used the leverage of the buried stakes to flip herself over their heads and pummel the vamp behind them with her heels, what he looked like under that mask. As it was, all she had to go on was the broadness of his shoulders and his height, and the silver ring that glinted in his left ear.

The two of them made quick work of what remained of the mass of vamps.

'Well, that was fun.' Buffy said cheerfully, brushing vampire dust from her red sweater, and turned to face the newcomer. 'Thanks for –'

He was gone. She smiled. 'Ooh, a mysterious one.'

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'So he rescued you and then just vanished? Like, poof?' Willow repeated excitedly in a stage-whisper; anything lower and she wouldn't have been able to hear herself over all the noise the class was making.

'Major poofing.' Buffy agreed. 'It was kind of hot.'

'Kind of? Kind of?'

'Okay, yeah, it was really hot.'

'I wonder who he is?'

The bell rang for the end of class. Around them, the study hall piled out the door, making even more talk-noise than they had been during the actual period. Which was saying something. But Buffy and Willow took their time, packing up the books they'd neglected in favour of juicy guy gossip.

'I dunno, I've never seen him before.'

'Was he a vampire? Like, a good one? Like Angel?' Willow paused, too late, but Buffy didn't bat an eye.

'No idea. I mean, maybe, I couldn't tell with all the other vamps around. He was really graceful though. As in demigod graceful. I wish I could fight like that.'

Willow made a sigh of appreciation. Buffy smiled at her enthusiasm. In bed last night she'd thought about the mysterious rescuer until she fell asleep, but telling Willow about it gave her a new perspective on him. And he was just as hot from here. Willow bit her lip.

'What?' Buffy asked, giving a smile that was both knowing and permissive.

'Do you think it… might have been Angel?'

'No. Even if… well, even if he could come back.' Buffy shook her head. She'd thought about that too, although then she'd factored in Angel's actually being back. Which she didn't tell Willow. Or anybody. 'First of all, he didn't look like Angel, even with the mega-disguising. He was taller and he had an earring - Angel doesn't - didn't - have piercings. Second, this guy doesn't fight like Angel did. Less chop-and-go, more stay-and-utterly-defeat.' She used the comparison she'd thought of the other night.

'What are you two whispering about?' Giles asked as the pushed through the library doors. He was checking out a pile of books for a couple of freshmen. The pair were feeling each other up right in front of him; Giles looked disgruntled.

'Nothing.' They chorused brightly. Buffy explained, 'Just guy scoping.'

'I see.' Giles made a face, cleaning his glasses with utter Britishness. He watched the couple go with relief. 'I hope you at least got some study in before you hit on this topic.'

'Of course!' Buffy said indignantly. 'I got a lot of that math stuff done last night, I'll have you know. Well, until my pencil broke.'

Giles raised an eyebrow, less with surprise and more you're-gonna-have-to-do-better-than-that.

'I used it on a vampire.'

Willow, who had heard this already, couldn't help laughing again. Giles shook his head, closing the books he'd set out on the table.

'I suppose we'd better forgo demonology for now, then.'

'Really?' Buffy asked excitedly.

'Yes. In favour of SAT study, of course.'

Buffy groaned.

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**[There it is, then. Prologue in all its tiny glory. I swear I'm working on the length thing. Next chap in seven days exactly.**

**Reviews fuel my muse - any takers?]**


	2. This Could Be Bad

**Thank you for the reviews! Your reward: ****chapter one. Still short, but at least it's double the last, thanks very much.**

**Enjoy,**

**~W**

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Her enigmatic friend came to her once more that week, this time just polishing off one of two vamps for her. The circumstances weren't nearly as chaotic as they were the first time they'd met, so when it was done Buffy knew he couldn't simply slip away. She kept her eye on him the whole time, making it impossible altogether. She went right up to him, and to his credit he didn't take an unconscious step back. Most people did when the Slayer approached them like she was right now.

'Thanks. Again.'

He nodded, wiping his blades clean of dust before sliding them deftly in their respective sheaths. Then he put his hands behind his back and regarded her quietly.

'Do you have a name?' Asked Buffy, approaching. He neither backed off nor answered, just tilted his head slowly at her.

'Okay, I can take the mute hint. But I'll introduce myself anyway.' Thrusting out a hand and bouncing a little on her feet, she smiled. 'I'm the Slayer. Nice to meet you.'

There were three possibilities here. First, he could tell her his name. Second, he could back off in surprise at learning who she was and run away. Second, he could do nothing at all, like he'd been doing. The third one was most likely. The fourth one was what he went for.

Taking her hand lightly in his large black-gloved one, he bent his head down and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Or at least she assumed he did; it was hard to tell exactly where his lips were, because the cloth mask covered his lower face completely.

'Oh.' She said. 'Um, hi.'

He looked up at her, still kissing her hand, and she saw that his eyes were blue. Not a bright blue, but a deep blue, intelligent and sort of x-ray-like. Almost like he could see straight through her.

His eyes were laughing.

'Can you... um, can you tell me your name?'

At this he straightened and seemed to consider. Then, from beneath his leather tunic – which, by the by, fit very well and flattered his broad chest and slim hips – he drew a silver pendent. Tugging it to break the black thong that kept it hanging around his neck, he held it out to her.

She took and examined it. It was a symbol set crudely into what looked like sterling silver, with no words or other clues.

'Um, this doesn't have a name on –'

He'd gone.

'It,' Buffy completed, surprised. All right, the first night she could understand. That time he could have crept off while she was still fighting. But this time? She had a perfect view of her surroundings for at least a mile, except for the headstones, and she somehow doubted that he was crouching behind one waiting for her to leave. And he wasn't a vampire; she'd have felt it. So how did he do that?

She wandered toward her things and packed up for the night, still pondering.

The next day she brought the pendent to school to show to Giles.

'What's this?' He asked, putting on his glasses and examining it.

'No idea. You?'

'Certainly, but where on Earth did you get it?'

'Guy gave it to me. What is it?'

'Well, this symbol, that's Ancient Gorgon. And judging by the crude engraving technique, I would guess that this is an actual relic of that era. Extraordinary – there are only three remaining scrolls from the Gorgon civilization.'

'Yeah, that would explain my utter not knowing what Gorgon is.'

'It's a race, Buffy,' Giles said absently, turning the charm over and over so it caught the light at different angles. 'I would expect you to remember at least the name, considering you studied the history just last week.'

'Oh, that Gorgon!' Buffy said, hitting her forehead with the butt of her palm and rolling her eyes. 'How could I possibly forget! Now are you going to tell me what it means?'

'Well, it's a glyph.'

'So it means something? It's not just pretty?'

Giles's lip quirked. '_Rasgon_, it's called. It means 'to rip,' or 'to shred.' He handed the pendent back to her.

'Nice. Fits him, too.'

'I would be fascinated to learn who gave that to you.'

'Just this guy. He sort of saved my butt. Like twice.'

'On patrol?' Giles's tone changed to concern. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Well, it wasn't a biggie. It never really occurred to me to bring it up.'

Giles gave her the look, and she sighed.

'Okay, okay, getting it. Next time I tell you.'

Next time Rasgon showed, this time completely saving her ass from a dozen warrior-type demons, he didn't seem inclined to stick around after the fight. He turned, cloak billowing, to go. But Buffy was determined.

'Rasgon!' Buffy called after him, and he paused.

'That's your name, isn't it?'

Rasgon turned around and approached her, loping, almost, like a black panther. He said nothing, but stared directly into her. He really was tall; she virtually had to crane her neck.

'Is it your real one?' His eyes seemed to smile. He shook his head.

'Yeah, I thought not.' Oddly, that was okay. A guy like this, who actually did the whole mask and cloak thing, obviously wasn't going to go around handing out his real name. 'Here.'

She pulled his pendent from around her own neck. 'I put it on a chain for you.'

He nodded in thanks and held out a hand, into which she dropped the silver. He started to draw his hand back, but she caught it suddenly, frowning at his side. Raising his arm had nudged the cape a little, revealing a long gash beneath one rib.

He knew what had caught her attention, and without saying anything, firmly took his hand back and pressed it over the wound.

'How bad is it?' The tear was no longer visible, but still Buffy found that she couldn't look away. Over the weeks she'd built up this image of him in her mind: invulnerable. Untouchable. But he bled, and the blood was red. Did that make him human?

Rasgon shook his head dismissively.

'Liar.' Buffy snorted, and the perception and force of this rebuke seemed to surprise Rasgon. He didn't do anything to stop her when she knelt in front of him and pushed his fist away.

The flesh around the lesion was pale as a vampire's and looked just as hard. And he had indeed lied; the wound looked deep, and was bleeding profusely.

'You have to let me do something about this.'

Rasgon raised a straight eyebrow in something that could have been disdain.

'I don't care if you can do it yourself.' Buffy snapped. 'Come on.'

She turned on her heel and stalked away. She didn't know if he was following her. He didn't make any noise at all, nothing even her Slayer hearing could pick up. Not even breathing. Again she wondered what he could be, if not a vampire. He couldn't be human; a wound that bad would have any normal guy on his knees, and Rasgon wasn't even breathing hard.

When she got to the destination crypt she pushed open the heavy door and stood next to it, waiting. She discovered that Rasgon had indeed followed her. He hesitated.

'Cloak and shirt off.' Buffy ordered. Rasgon cocked his head, looking almost amused. Buffy eyeballed him.

The cloak fell to the ground around his feet with a quick flick of his thumb – he seemed to have touched an old-style broach that held the two ends of the cape together at his throat. The shirt, apparently, required more work. Turning his back on her, he removed the cowl that hid his face. His hair was dark and slightly damp with the sweat of exertion. Next he pulled the black tunic up over his head. Buffy watched, riveted, as his muscles rippled beneath several light scars, and then the shirt was off. He replaced the cowl before turning back to her.

Buffy made no attempt to hide her appreciation. With his shirt off and the cowl on, he looked like some sort of romance novel executioner. But the wound looked bad, even though it had stopped bleeding. Blood was smeared all the way from his seventh rib to his hip.

'Okay. Sit.' She pointed into the sepulchre.

Rasgon gestured with his head in a way that somehow said, 'I could leave now, and be gone before you could blink.'

'Yeah, I'm sure you can, Mr Dissapeary Not-Vampire Guy. Now sit.'

Apparently titillated, he peacocked on over and ducked in the door to settle on the tomb itself.

'Good.' Buffy said, kneeling beside him with her bag of goods. She rummaged for antiseptic.

'Okay, well, crap.' She said after a good minute. A tiny bottle glinted suddenly in front of her eyes, waggled by a big gloved hand as though to taunt her. Buffy looked up; Rasgon's blue eyes, very close now, were laughing.

'Shut up.' She grumbled and pulled the stopper. As vengeance, she didn't warn him when she poured the antibacterial onto his wound. He grunted then, the first sound he'd ever made, and every agreeably visible muscle tensed.

'Oh, no.' She said, sorry, and put the empty bottle up to her nose. The smell alone made her eyes water, and she coughed. 'Oh, my God, you use strong stuff.'

'Holy water and distilled alcohol.'

Buffy was taken aback. His voice was very low and very gravelly, almost husky, and a little breathy from sudden pain. She looked at his eyes, looking at her, and saw fatigue there.

'Are you human?'

He nodded.

'How is that possible?'

Rasgon shook his head. Apparently he'd done all the talking he was going to do.

'Are you afraid I'll recognize your voice?' Buffy pressed, her pent up curiosity getting the best of her. 'Do I know you?'

Again, though, he just shook his head, which meant she didn't even know which question he was answering. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, clearly ending the quiz.

Buffy's gaze lingered a bit longer, and then she began to clean away the blood around Rasgon's wound. She found herself periodically glancing back up at what she could see of his face, wondering what surrounded those closed blue eyes.

When the injury was thoroughly clean Buffy dressed it neatly. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, but he was tense, as though he had ambiguous feelings about her touching him.

'Do you not like me touching you?' Se asked outright. Rasgon's eyes opened again and locked with hers, but the emotion there was too complex to read at all. Yet she thought she saw...

Her hand, of its own accord, reached up and touched his mask. He caught her wrist with inhuman speed. Those eyes were hard now, dangerous. But he didn't push her hand away; he held it in his own, against his hidden cheek. The two of them stayed that way for a very long time, hand against hand against mask, neither set of eyes moving from the other. And then –

'Buffy.'

She stood and whirled around in one fluid motion, stake hefted and fist up before she'd even registered who it was.

'Angel.' She said, surprised, and looked behind her again, already knowing that Rasgon would be gone. He was. She let out a frustrated noise and rounded on Angel. 'You've got scarily-super-vampire-vision. Did _you_ see him go?'

'Nope.' Angel shrugged, approaching her. 'I don't think he's a vampire – we can't move that fast.'

'He said he was human.'

Angel raised an eyebrow.

'Yeah. That's what I said.'

Tilting his head, Angel inhaled. He let it out again hurriedly, making a face. 'Holy water and alcohol. Nice combination. I can't even smell his blood over that.'

Buffy let out a very teenage-girl-esque noise of vexation. 'I'll never figure him out.'

'Who was he? And how did he get wounded?'

'He saved my butt in a brawl. He called himself Rasgon.'

Angel's face registered surprise. A lot of surprise. 'Rasgon's human?'

'You know him?'

'Know of him. His name started circulating in the underworld about two, maybe three months ago.'

'That's not a long time.'

'Yeah, well, he's done a hell of a lot of damage in that time. Took out three major demon bosses in less than a week. I think he was around before that, though; I think it's only recently that he's started to make himself known.'

'Why would he do that?'

'Got bored, maybe. Got sick of seeking out the big bads and decided to let them come to him.'

'How good is he?'

'Very. Like I said, three upper-levels in one week.'

'And before that?'

'Couldn't count them, especially if he's been around longer, like I think. As for the name – do you know what it means?'

'Yeah, I had Giles translate. "To rip," right?'

'That's what the word means, yeah. A few centuries ago, though, there was a demon named Rasgon who turned on the rest of the underworld and pretty much committed genocide. No one could touch him; he only stopped when he vanished. Nobody ever got a glimpse again.'

Buffy whistled. She'd been consorting with a genocidal super-demon? Oh, um.

'But he said he was human.' Angel mused. 'Could be a different guy. Also, this one bleeds.'

'The other one didn't?'

'Well, I don't know. No one could ever get a blow in. Stands to reason that he didn't, though. Ancient and all.'

'But he might have.'

'Well, yeah.'

The two of them stood there for a while, looking at each other.

'This could be bad.'

'Yeah.'

**  
There you are. As I say, still short, but getting better.**

**Reviews fule my muse - any takers?**


	3. Lights, Candy, Action

**Does nobody like my ficcy? Hate it? Anything? Reviews fuel my muse! Even flames. Actually, especially flames, because then I get all insulted and keep writing out of spite.**

**Chapter two, as promised; enjoy. (And review. Please?)**

**~W  
**

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**Lights, Candy, Action  
**

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Half an hour after her conversation with Angel, Buffy was pounding on Giles' door. It was getting on toward sunrise, so she had no idea if he was even up. But this was big.

'Come on, Giles, wake up.' She said, pounding again. 'I might be getting all smoochy with a frigging maniac demon. Come on, _come on_.'

She heard a lock snap out of place and sighed with relief. Giles opened the door just enough to stick his head out.

'Buffy?'

'Giles, I need to talk to you.'

'Now?'

'Yes.' Giles looked her up and down, and then glanced around her, as though stalling.

'Eh, well, I'm rather – is it important?'

Buffy was confused. Giles never did this. Giving him her best teenager-in-distress/I'm-getting-annoyed look, she said, 'Yes. Way Big Important, Giles.'

He let out a breath. 'All right. Come in.'

She stepped over the threshold and into the dark living room open and rounded on him.

'Okay, so –' She stopped abruptly, getting her first good look at him as he closed and re-locked the door. He was wearing a black t-shirt and dark plaid slacks, and his feet were bare. This, coupled with his tousled hair and lack of glasses, stunned her.

Mostly because the effect was not unpleasant. Which was slightly wigging.

Giles caught her surprise, but 'yes, well.' was all he had to say on the matter. He passed her and went into the kitchen, switching on the light. 'What was it you needed to talk about?'

Buffy followed him into the now-bright room, remembering why she was there.

'I think we have a new player in town.'

'What sort of player?' Giles was putting on the kettle. Attuned now to details by her initial shock, Buffy noticed that his accent seemed a little off. Less stiff, more of a lilt; he seemed to skip right over his t's and the 'er' in 'player' turned into a sort of 'euh.' Was this what he sounded like when he was just getting out of bed? Was that it? Why did it put her… off-balance?

'Possible demon sort of player.' Giles turned to look at her, hand still on the kettle, but he didn't seem particularly surprised.

'Are you talking about Rasgon?'

'Yeah, him. Angel and I think he might be this one demon who basically went ape on the whole demon world a couple of centuries ago. Apparently he disappeared and hasn't been seen for like ever.'

'No, no.' Giles shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest thoughtfully and leaning against the stove. 'I did some research after you came to me with the medallion, and I think he's unrelated. This looks a completely new character.' His new loping accent was distracting Buffy. And his posture was all casual. What the hell?

'Are you sure?'

'Quite. Apart from everything else, the Rasgon you're talking about, the centuries-old one, he didn't use the symbol on the pendant. His calling card usually involved a decapitated head with the Old Demonic spelling of the word, not a silver amulet with the Gorgon version.'

'Did he bleed?'

'What?'

'Did he bleed?'

'Well, no, shouldn't think he did. He was one of the Ancients, which meant he was effectively indestructible.'

'Could that have changed? Like, could someone put some sort of spell on him?'

'To make him susceptible to physical attack? No, not an Ancient. No way to make an Ancient bleed.'

Buffy sighed, relieved. She sat at the small kitchen table. 'All right. Do you know anything about this new one, then, the one I met?'

'Yes, I do. He seems to have been making the rounds for the past three months, killing everything he comes up against.'

Buffy waited for more, but Giles was collecting a couple of mugs from the cupboard and setting them out on the table.

'What, is that it?'

Giles looked surprised. 'Should there be more?'

'Well, shouldn't there? I mean, he's this random guy who goes all knight in shining armor on me and then disappears into the night without saying a word, like he's actively trying to keep me from recognizing him. Don't you think that's a little, you know, _weird_?'

'Hasn't he said _anything_?'Giles asked.

'Well, yeah, I guess he has.' Buffy relented. 'He said like four words when I was dressing his wounds.'

Giles raised a brow at this last, but let it pass. 'Do _you_ think he's a demon?'

'Well.' Buffy said. She pushed her mug toward Giles so he could pour hot liquid into it. 'He doesn't fight like a human. He's too agile, and he makes like no noise when he walks. He doesn't even breathe. But on the other hand, he does bleed, and...' She trailed off.

Giles, who was now sitting across from her, looked at her expectantly.

'And, well, there's something about his eyes.'

Her Watcher stood abruptly. Buffy leaned away, surprised, but Giles only went to the refrigerator and extracted a jug of milk. This he set before Buffy, but he didn't sit back down. Instead he leaned against the table. Buffy drowned her tea with the milk and stared into space, thinking as she stirred. Well, really she stared at Giles's arm while she thought. His hand was flat on the table's surface. There was a plain silver ring on his middle finger that caught the light. This is what she looked at while she worked things through.

When she got down to it, no, she didn't think her Rasgon was the same Rasgon that had gone ape centuries earlier. While he was fast, he did bleed, and Giles said that was impossible for the old Rasgon. If she _knew_ it was impossible for that Rasgon, and if she _knew_ it wasn't for this Rasgon, there was really no question. Giles was always right.

This calmed her quite a bit. She gulped her tea gratefully and let her mind wander.

'So what's with the –' She started to say, but didn't quite know how to peg the change she was seeing in Giles. What the hell did she call it, newfound fashion sense? Bipolarness?

Giles was looking down at her over his shoulder, brows up. 'The non-Giles-like clothes?' She finished weakly. Giles blinked, and then scoffed.

'What, am I not allowed to dress comfortably when I'm not a Watcher?'

'Well, no. I mean, yes, but it's kind of – weird – in an – okay – sort of way.'

Giles laughed at her flustered explanation. That was what she was talking about! He didn't usually laugh like that. Actually, Giles didn't usually laugh at all. If he did, it was kind of pithy, kind of _British_, but this laugh was new. It was relaxed. It was like he was this totally different person. Well, the same person, but with all these little changes.

Suddenly it hit her.

'Giles.' She said, voice dangerous. Giles looked down at her again, startled by her tone.

'What?' Yes, it was obvious, now. She'd heard him talk like this before, seen him act like this before. It had been much more pronounced then, but she recognized it.

'You didn't happen to keep some of that band candy, did you?'

Giles's brows knit, uncomprehending. Then it dawned on him, and he started to grin. But he caught himself. This more than anything convinced Buffy that something was off; he was aware of the deviation in his behaviour and was trying to stifle it. What did that mean?

'Honestly, the first time was embarrassing enough. I'll not be doing that again anytime soon.'

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, but he met her gaze unflinchingly. She pushed it.

'Something's off.'

'No, Buffy, it's not.' Giles said, almost soothingly. 'I'm the same bloke I've always been. I haven't stopped being your Watcher, and I never will. All right?'

Buffy regarded him a moment longer, studying him. 'Bloke,' he'd said. What kind of right-minded Giles said 'bloke?' And yet... His eyes were kind. They were oddly bright without the glasses, but they were her Watcher's eyes. She nodded, deciding to trust him.

'All right. Just, please warn me next time you look like a normal person.'

'I will do.' Giles chuckled. 'Now finish your tea.'

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It was a week before Rasgon made another appearance. Patrol was fairly uneventful that night and Buffy wasn't even fighting. Rasgon apparently noted her lack of needing help, and tried to retreat when he was still a good distance off. But he'd come at a bad angle for stealth; Buffy caught a glimpse of silver in the distant night.

'Rasgon.'

No answer. She'd lost sight of his pedant, so she panned out with her eyes, searching for a sign of him.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she whirled around, instinctively throwing a blow with her stake.

But he caught her wrist.

'Rasgon! God, I could have killed you.' Buffy gasped, surprised. How was she supposed to make up her mind about his being a demon or not when he kept doing these humanly impossible things? He'd caught her fist! Not that that would have been any big thing if she were a normal girl, but she was a Slayer, and nothing was supposed to be able to catch a blow from the Slayer. This was not helping.

Rasgon said nothing, but his raised brow was clearly saying, 'kill _me_? Yeah, right.'

'We really need to talk.' Buffy said, letting it go in favor of the more pressing. 'You need to tell me right now whether or not you're a demon, because I can't seem to figure it out by myself, and if you are a demon, we have a problem.' She let it all out at once, knowing that she was going to be doing all the talking anyway.

Naturally, he didn't comment at all. Instead he let go of her wrist and slowly pulled up the corner of his leather tunic and touched his side with his free hand, tapping a finger against his skin as if to say, 'look here.'

He was indicating his wound, which by now was about a week and a half old. He'd stopped dressing it, and it seemed to be healing well despite the bruises that had developed around it.

'Yeah, I know you bleed. That doesn't mean anything.'

He shook his head, pulling his shirt down. 'Slow.'

Hello; his fifth word. It was just as she remembered it, coarse and very low. It took Buffy a minute to get past his voice and process the meaning of the assertion.

'Slow? What, like slow to heal?'

Rasgon inclined his head.

'Okay. Well, that only eliminates vampire, which I'd already decided didn't fit.' Buffy was frustrated. 'You know, this not saying more than four words in one night is really not helping. Should we just play charades?'

Rasgon too seemed frustrated. Brows coming together, he slid backwards up onto the headstone behind him and stared doggedly at the ground.

'Oh, come on,' Buffy snapped, 'no thinking. Talking. Rasgon, please, talk to me.'

He met her gaze, blue eyes dire.

'Please.' She said again. She held his stare for several seconds while he seemed to calculate, seemed to weigh the risks. Finally –

'All right, Buffy.' His voice seemed even deeper now, even rougher; he was trying harder than ever to mask his voice.

But Buffy was stunned. After almost a month of silence, he was just going to start talking? Really?

'What do you want me to tell you?'

His accent was definitely American, although it had a slightly odd cadence. Maybe it was the disguising.

'I want you to tell me what you are.'

'I'm human.'

'Okay, I meant prove what you are.'

'How do I do that?'

'Well, you can start by explaining how you do the vampire appear-disappear thing.' At this Rasgon seemed to smile. He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to her. Buffy caught it deftly and examined it. This, like his pendant, was silver. It was tiny and spherical, with no markings whatsoever.

'Okay. This isn't telling me anything.'

'It's magicked.' Buffy's eyes widened. Now that he said it, the object did feel odd in her hand; tingly, almost, electric.

'You use a _charm_ to do that?'

'Farrden spell.' That sounded familiar. Giles had probably told her about it at one point. Relieved, Buffy threw it back to him. Well, that was the major thing. What else was there?

'What about the vampirey quiet thing?'

'What?'

'The quiet thing. I mean, you don't make _any_ noise. Like at all. If you're human, I should be able to pick up _something_.'

Again he seemed to smile. 'Hunter.'

'Excuse me?'

'Native American hunters learn to stalk prey in the forests without so much as breaking a twig. It's necessary; elk and deer have extraordinarily sensitive hearing.'

Buffy was sceptical. Rasgon picked up on this. But he just shrugged, as if to say, 'it's the truth. Believe it or don't, your choice.'

'All right, whatever. Next question: why the hell haven't you talked until now?'

Rasgon was not surprised by the turn in the interrogation, but he still took a minute to answer. Buffy nipped this in the butt.

'You're getting ready to lie to me.'

'Yes, I am.'

'Tell the truth.'

'Not on this one.'

Buffy glared at him, exasperated. This guy was like a bar of soap; every time she thought she'd gotten a good grip on him, he decided to zoom right out of her hand and tell her that she'd never actually had any grip at all. How was she supposed to ever get the truth out of him?

'I could fight you.' She said slowly. Rasgon sighed; his eyes went sad.

'You could. I would prefer you didn't.' Oddly, he didn't seem scared. Buffy took a nanosecond to interpret this: either he was cocky and thought he could best her, or he didn't think it would come to a fight.

Or he really could beat her.

Buffy dismissed that option out of hand.

'Then be honest with me.' She demanded.

'No.'

They stared at one another for a long time. Buffy's pulse had started to pick up with adrenaline. She knew she was going to do it. She didn't want to, and she didn't know why she didn't want to, but as long as this stranger refused to clear his name he was a threat, and she could not abide threats.

She struck without warning.

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**Mwaha, check that out! It's like fifteen times longer than the first bits! I win.**

**Reviews fuel my muse - any takers?**


	4. The Crux

**GAH. I knew there was a big old mistake staring me in the face, and thank you Mmooch for pointing it out. I'm ashamed of myself. But I've fixed it now, so here is the new and improved third chapter.**

**Note: this is where the story earns its rating - mostly for violence and like one curse. **

**~W**

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He blocked her with a forearm, almost effortlessly. Buffy whirled away as he threw his own blow. 'You don't have any other charms on you, do you?' She asked, going for a round-house. 'Like, one that gives you Superman reflexes?'

'That would be cheating.' Rasgon replied levelly, leaping out of the way and exploiting an opening she'd created in the kick.

'Good.'

They fought furiously. Rasgon never went for the weapons arrayed at his belt, and Buffy never went for hers. Neither gained any ground on the other. It soon became clear that Buffy was stronger, and faster, but Rasgon seemed to know every move she made before _she_ knew it. This perplexed Buffy increasingly every time he predicted a blow. How was he doing that? She tried ever more extravagant moves, getting wilder, switching up her patterns, but he still met every attack. This was impossible – she couldn't touch him at all.

When it became clear that she wasn't going to give up, Rasgon slowly began to take the offensive. 'Please, Buffy,' he said, almost begging, but by now Buffy had no choice. She had to take him down. This too he seemed to know.

Desperate, she threw a martial chop that had no name. It didn't have a name because it was so utterly stupid, leaving a huge opening.

Rasgon went to take it.

But he didn't. Furthermore, Buffy's insane blow landed, striking him critically across the face. The force of it sent him spinning off to the side, and he lay where he landed.

There was a hilt sticking out of his back.

That was when Angel showed himself, sprinting with inhuman speed and leaping headstones. He reached Buffy quickly and touched various parts of her, checking her over roughly.

'You all right?' He asked her.

But Buffy had eyes only for Rasgon. She slipped past Angel and approached the prone figure of her opponent.

'Rasgon.' She said. Her voice was flat. He didn't answer. Didn't move. She couldn't hear breathing. She opened her mouth to say it again, but found that she couldn't. She tried to move toward him, and that was beyond her too.

Angel did it for her. He knelt beside the crumpled man, removed his short sword and slowly, gently, turned him over. Rasgon's cowl had been skewed by Buffy's final, lethal attack, and now only one eye was visible. It was closed.

'He's alive, Buffy.' Angel said.

The relief that flooded Buffy was both inexplicable and absolute. Angel lifted Rasgon easily over his own shoulder. 'We should get him help. Then you can tell me what the hell happened and why I shouldn't torture the shit out of him.'

'Wait.' Buffy's voice was still flat. Angel paused.

'I want – I want to see his face.'

Angel looked at her, but she gave nothing away, so he lowered Rasgon back to the ground. Buffy got to her knees and stared at Rasgon's little visible skin. She was getting what she'd fought for: his identity. She found she almost didn't want it after all.

Almost. She gripped the black cloth in her fist.

Rasgon's eye opened and stared into her. Buffy shrank from it; it was sad and hard and reproachful all at once. But worst of all, it could see what was inside her, and understood.

Rasgon whispered a word.

Buffy was left clutching air.

She hammered on Giles's door for the second time in as many weeks, this time without pausing between pounds to wait for an answer. It wasn't even midnight yet; he should be up. But the door stayed closed.

'Giles!' She shouted. 'Giles, open up!'

Still nothing. Buffy kicked down the door and went through all of the rooms, each time expecting to see him sitting up on a couch or a bed, groggy, going 'what's going on?' But he wasn't in any of them. She ended up in the kitchen, standing there in the dark and looking around as though hopelessly lost, searching for someone who wasn't there.

This was bad. Not only was he not there when she needed him, but _he wasn't there_. Giles was never not there. She left the apartment and sprinted toward the school. Not there either. She called all her friends' houses. Not there. Not there, not there, not there.

_Giles, where are you?_

Over the next few days Rasgon fell right off her radar. Buffy worried constantly, although she didn't take any action - deciding to give Giles a little time - except to check his place once a day. But he never showed. The lights stayed off in his rooms, the air grew stale; each time she crossed the threshold the place seemed that little bit sadder, that little bit less hopeful that its maven would come back. Two days, three days, four, and Buffy found she couldn't stand the sight. She stood outside the door in the middle of the night, hand raised to open the door she'd left unlocked the night before, and couldn't do it.

But what else was there to do? She couldn't call the police. It was a habit she'd picked up, not calling the police - more often than not they couldn't handle whatever she was calling about anyway, and something told her this was another one of those times. There weren't any signs of foul play in there, which ruled out burglars. But it also ruled out a demon attack, since most demons weren't smart enough to lock the door behind them. It could have been a spell. Was Giles running around in there still, unable to communicate because he was - she didn't know - a mouse or something?

Giles would know. Without him there, Buffy was paralysed. Should she call the police, against every single instinct in her? What if her stupid instincts were wrong?

The only thing she knew for sure was that she was not the type of girl who sat around waiting for things to fix themselves for her; she needed to do something. Now. She needed her Watcher back. She needed her Giles.

Only, how? What was she supposed to do?

Buffy steeled up and let herself into the flat, closing the door behind her. The place, silent and dark as ever, sulked at her. 'You're the Slayer,' it seemed to accuse, 'help him.'

She wandered into the bedroom and sank onto the bed. The mattress was firmer than she was used to, but the green down covers were soft and feathery beneath her. She looked at the pillow in the dark and made out an impression. That was where his head should be, right now. Absently she touched it, thinking hard, listing her options.

The police. That was absolutely a desperate measure, a route she would only take if all else failed.

The Watchers' Council. Okay, the police were the _second to last _measure.

The school. She'd already drained that cup dry, having Willow hack the system since none of them could very well ask Snyder. The school didn't know where he was either; he was simply listed as MIA.

The… what else was there? Buffy floundered. What would Giles be doing if one of them were missing?

She snorted. Well, he'd have his nose stuck in a book, obviously, looking for some spell or -

Spells! Buffy was halfway out the bedroom door when she realised it was half past midnight. On a school night. Even if her friends were awake, they would be groggy, and she needed them both at their best. She weighed the risks of wasting time against the risks of going in half-cocked, and finally forced herself to sit down again. After a moment she lay down and hugged the pillow with Giles' imprint on it. She steeled herself for a long night.

'We gotta find him.' Willow said before school on the fifth day since Buffy told them what had happened. They were all sitting around the library, not knowing what to do. She, Willow, sat across from Xander at the table, watching him scratch absently at a pockmark in the wood of the table, head propped on a fist and shoulders slouched. He didn't say anything. That's how bad it was.

Cordelia was perched on the counter a few metres away, one heel tapping the marble. 'Okay.' She said, as though placating a dim-witted child. 'How do we do that?'

'Willow.' Buffy said suddenly bursting in the double doors. All their heads shot up, and Buffy went on in one breath, 'Is there a spell you could try?'

Willow's anxious face cleared instantly. She leapt up, red hair bouncing with her momentum and rushed into Giles's office. They caught the tail end of the exclamation she shouted over her shoulder: 'I've even got the supplies here.'

'Oh.' Said Cordelia. 'That'll work.'

They had to wait until after school to work the spell. Buffy spent the whole day in her own head, impatient and anxious and determined all at once. Whenever a teacher called on her she looked up blankly, shrugged, and slipped fitfully back into her thoughts. What if she'd waited too long? What if Giles was -

She never let herself finish that thought. She was too close now, too close to taking action, to let doubts get in the way.

Why had it taken her so long to think of spells?

She never answered that one either.

When the last bell rang she was out the door before anyone knew she'd gotten out of her seat, pelting down the hall as if her life depended on it.

Which was funny, because it kind of did.

It took Will half an hour to set up a circle, directing the rest of the gang. 'Buffy, you set out the candles. The red one goes there, the blue one…' and 'Xander, put this bowl by the green candle,' and 'Cordelia, don't step on the circle!' Buffy, Xander and Cordelia watched as she spread a map out on the floor, surrounded by the candles and various things Buffy couldn't name, and began talking in what could have been Latin. On a silver chain she held a plain ring she'd found in Giles's apartment, gently swinging it over the map while she muttered in tongues.

The ring, she'd explained as they were setting up, was something Giles had worn a lot, something personal that had absorbed some of his essence. She could use that essence, asking like to call to like and lead them to what they'd lost.

'There.' Said Willow confidently when the ring dropped suddenly onto a point of the map. The others were quizzical; to them it had seemed like their friend had just chose a random spot and dropped the ring there. 'Guys, I'm sure of it. This is where Giles is.'

Buffy took her at her word, nodding and leaning down to look. 'Where is 'this?''

She and Willow squinted together, and then looked at each other.

'Uh oh.' Xander said, looking from one to the other. 'I know that look. That look means bad.'

'Giles is in England.' Buffy told him. His eyebrows drew together, uncomprehending, and Buffy knew how he felt.

'Ripper.'

Giles came to slowly. His whole body hurt, searing like fire in some places and simply aching dully in others. He let out a rasp.

'Ripper. Ripper.' Giles opened his eyes reluctantly and, with an effort, focused.

'Philip.' He slurred, and closed his eyes again.

'No. No, you don't, Ripper, keep awake. You're in very bad shape, I need your eyes open.'

Giles ignored him, drifting back towards sleep.

A sharp slap across his face, setting off a chain reaction in his jaw. Giles cried out, realizing his jaw had been broken.

'Oh, sorry, didn't realize.'

'You… you…' Giles's anger struggled to keep its head above water.

'Yes, me. Now I have to cauterize this artery, Ripper, or you'll bleed out. Here -' He stuffed something soft between Giles's teeth. An instant later he heard the click of a lighter, and agony erupted. Giles roared around the cloth, teeth clenching automatically, before he passed out.

'You shouldn't have done that, Ripper.' Phillip paced furiously around the chapel, his arms crossed over his chest and his voice angry. It was two days since Giles had appeared in the abandoned chapel of the monastery that had become Philip's home. Three of the monks had been praying when Ripper fell out of the crucifix at the front of the chapel, bleeding profusely and nearly dead. It had taken much persuasion to convince the monks that he wasn't Christ reincarnated, and even more frantic work to keep the man alive. Philip and two of the three monks who had discovered Giles stayed at his side in the infirmary the whole time he'd been here, staying up all night and working desperately to keep from losing him. Philip had been a wreck, and now that his old friend was stable he had no qualms with blowing up on him.

Giles watched wearily from where he lay, propped up in one of the narrow infirmary beds.

'You must be out of your sodding mind. _Rasgon?_ Are you bloody _insane_?'

'It was always going to happen.' Giles tried to snap, but his words had no bite. 'I couldn't be a bloody Watcher _all the time_ for three bloody years, could I? I'd've gone barking mad.'

'You could have died. You almost _did _die. You know how close that wound was to your heart? _Centimetres_, Ripper. _Centimetres_.'

'Yeah, well, thank God for the metric system.'

'There were other ways.' Phillip shook his head, still stalking about. 'You could've done something – anything – else.'

'Oh, aye, like what? Eh? What could I've done?'

Phillip shook his head, but stopped pacing to stand in front of Giles' bed. Still, he didn't look at him. 'You could have just kept the ring on.'

'For _three blinking years_?' Giles scoffed. 'You stupid asshat, d'you know me at all?' Phillip shook his head again, sinking dejectedly onto the end of the bed to settle beside his battered friend.

'Well, it would have been all right if you hadn't started waving it in her face. Why in hell did you do that?'

Giles said nothing, just sighed hard and let his head loll back against the thin pillow. Phillip's eyes widened. 'Oh, you're joking. You didn't.'

'I did.'

'How does that _work_? You were trained specifically so it wouldn't happen!'

'Well, it did anyway.'

'Probably because you took the sodding ring off!'

'Before then! Even wearing those barmy tweed suits, stuffing my nose in my damn books, even then! And it wasn't even related to Buffy, you mincer, I took it off 'cos I got annoyed with getting my head bashed in every three days. Know what that does to a bloke's pride, eh?'

Phillip was quiet for a while, and Giles, exhausted from yelling, let his head fall back against the stone. When Philip finally looked at his friend, there was a hint of a smile on his face.

'Every three days, eh?'

'Bugger off. The Watcher's a pissant, but _I_ can still kick your teeth in.'

'What're we going to do then?'

'Well, I'm going to get someone to heal me. A witch, so it'll be faster.'

'And leave the Slayer on her own?'

'Only for three or four days. By then - with help - these'll be mended enough so as not to be immediately obvious. And anyway, she's got her friends. They'll look after her.'

'And what are you going to tell her when you go back to Sunnydale?'

'I dunno yet. Ask me later.'

'England?' Cordelia repeated. 'Like, fish and chips England? "Top of the morning England?"'

'What do we do?' Willow asked, not bothering to tell Cordelia that 'top of the morning' was Irish and not English.

'Go after him.' Buffy said with authority. 'There's no telling what kind of danger he's in.'

'He might not be in danger.' Xander said. 'He's British; ET phone home.'

'He wouldn't leave without saying something.'

No one had anything to say against this.

'So how do we get to England?' Asked Cordelia. Buffy shook her head, rubbing her temples and thinking hard. WWGD, WWGD…Spells… it struck her.

'Hey, Willow. You know how to cast a Farrden spell?'

Once they had the idea of a Farrden spell, it wasn't hard for Willow to figure out how to track Giles' exact location.

'I don't need to.' She said, face set as she focused hard on a new spell. 'When I do this spell, all I have to do is ask the universe to bring me to exactly where he is. Well, preferable a few feet away. Not, you know, exactly where he is, cause…' She let her sentence drop, losing her thread as her work took back her whole attention. The others, arrayed loosely around the circle she was constructing, watched with various expressions of worry and anxiety. They remained silent.

'Do we _need_ the circle?' Buffy asked suddenly. Willow looked up. 'I mean, whenever Rasgon used the spell he just said where he wanted to go and disappeared. He didn't use a circle or anything.'

'Oh. The charm is different from the spell; when you use a charm, you focus the magic into an object, and the object becomes, like, instant pancake mix. The spell is already in the object, primed and waiting, and all you have to do is tell the universe where you want to go. With a normal spell you have to set everything up, because it's not stored in anything.'

'Oh.' Said Buffy. That made sense. Kind of.

'Okay.' Said Willow finally, businesslike. 'You guys need to be in the circle, or the spell won't pay any attention to you. So, Xander, stand over there, but don't knock over the Northern candle -'

'Willow.' Buffy interrupted quietly. Willow, who had known this was coming, turned toward her, everything in her face daring Buffy to say it. Buffy winced inwardly, but she had no choice but to go on. 'You guys shouldn't come.'

No one said anything for a minute. Buffy looked at each of them in turn, reading their faces. They had seen this coming too, but their silence wasn't that of resignation. It was the kind that meant they had nothing to say, the kind that meant the case was closed. She tried anyway.

'Listen to me. Whatever's up with Giles, we could be walking into something really big. There might be demons and fighting, and I know you guys can hold your own, but it might be too much. I think I should go by myself.'

The silence closed in again when she was done. Xander stepped into the circle.

'Xand -'

'This is Giles, Buffy.' Xander cut her off. 'We're coming with you.'

Buffy bit her lip, and she looked around at the three; they all wore the same expression. Except Cordelia, who just looked like Cordelia.

'Okay.' Buffy nodded slowly. Then she couldn't help but grin; she would have her friends with her.

Smiling too, Willow took over again. 'Xander, you stand by Earth, over there to the north. Cordelia, over by Air and Buffy, you stand here for Fire. Take this candle. And I'll take Water.'

The witch's three friends did as bid. When Willow had arranged each of them to suit her, she took her place to the West and picked up the blue candle.

'Ready?' She asked, voice nervous but jaw set.

'Ready.' They answered together.

'Okay,' She looked nervous, but she shook back her hair and put out her chin and began, calmly, to chant.

That was when the screaming started.

Giles woke screaming. Philip pinned him to the bed as he thrashed, shouting Giles' name over his roaring.

'Ripper! Ripper, it's all right, you're in the monastery! Ripper!'

Finally Giles went still, panting. Philip started to let go his shoulders, but Giles was struggling again.

'I have to get back.' He wheezed.

'Idiot! We still haven't found a healer.'

'I don't care.'

'Think, Ripper. You said yourself they would be fine.'

'I still don't care. Let me up, goddamnit.'

'What brought this on? No - stop _struggling_ - what the hell is wrong with you?'

'Something's wrong.' Giles panted, sagging back. His hands twitched as though he were still trying to get up, but his muscles betrayed him. 'I can feel it. Buffy is - her emotions -'

'What do you mean, her emotions? You can still feel them, even with the ring off for so long?'

'Have to -'

'Rupert, think. Maybe she's upset because you're not there.'

'No, something else. I know it. Let me up.'

'Rupert, you're not even fit to -'

'You heal me.'

Philip froze. 'How can you ask me that?'

'It's not the same as summoning Eyghon. It's just healing. Please.'

'I don't have enough power -'

'Not all the way. I just need to be able to get to Sunnydale.'

'And then what, Rupert? You'll keel over the minute you come out the other end. You won't be any help at all -'

With a sudden iron strength, Giles shoved him away and stood up, snarling. Philip staggered backward, aghast. Giles stood swaying, but his feverish eyes were locked on Philip's.

'She's in pain.' He said, his voice level, almost cold. Philip closed his eyes.

'I have to help her. I have to be with her.'

_I have to be with her_. Philip opened his eyes again and stared sadly at Giles. He started to understand; this sometimes happened to Watchers.

'That bad?'

Giles nodded. Behind the rage, Philip could see desperation in his blue eyes. He stepped forward and, with a hand on Ripper's chest and a word of Latin, poured every ounce of his magic into his friend's broken body.

Nobody had time to ask where the demons had come from, or what they were doing in the Magic Box, or why there were so many of them. Buffy had reacted the fastest, instantly shouting out orders and taking on the first demon that got close enough to pummel.

'Everybody get cover!' She yelled, 'Willow, find a spell or something! And as for you, you stupid demons, what the f-'

'Gentlemen!' The demons stopped instantly, and the one Buffy was bludgeoning had to freeze just before he could block one of her blows. Buffy's fist collided with his ugly face and he bowled over backward. That made Buffy feel a little better. She swung around to assess the new situation.

Her friends were held by two of the demons, who had the gang's arms twisted behind their backs and had their heads pulled back by the hair to expose their necks. Both struggled.

There were twelve demons, all of them tall and broad, with burnt-orange scales and ridges along their cheekbones, eyebrows and noses. Their throats were protected by thick hide; she would have to find another weak point. Only one was different; he was short and green, with a huge nose.

Two demons stood back a-ways, guarding the door. The one she'd hammered lay unconscious several feet away. The four remaining all stood together; two of them flanked one, with the last one - the green one - a few steps behind. That left no doubt as to which one the ringleader was. As soon as Buffy identified him, the demon smiled. He stepped forward and looked down at his fallen comrade. 'Very nice.' He commented. 'Aren't you a feisty one?'

'What do you want, Mafia Boy?'

'Mafia Boy?' The demon repeated reproachfully. He smoothed the front of his garish blue silk shirt and adjusted the huge diamond links of his blue suit jacket. 'I see you too have no taste.'

'What do you mean, me too?'

'Your lover is similarly brutish when it comes to finery.'

'You know Angel?' Buffy was confused. She heard Willow gasp to her right and realized what she'd said, but there was no time now for explanations. She kept her eye on the ringleader.

'Angel?' The demon pulled a face. 'No, I'm not talking about that toothy madman. I thought he was dead? But no matter. I speak of Rasgon.'

'Rasgon? Why would he be my boyfriend?'

'Well, you're here, are you not? And you have friends with you; Rasgon warned you.'

'What does the Magic Box have to do with Rasgon?'

'Don't play coy, insolent girl. I hired a tracker here. Rasgon's stench is all over this… place. Not so, Orello?'

Buffy's eyes flicked to the green demon. It occurred to her that the thing did look a little like a dog; she wrinkled her nose. That wasn't being fair to dogs. But wait.

'Rasgon was here?'

The ringleader made a noise like an air conditioner. It took Buffy a second to realize he was laughing.

'Funny, insolent girl. But enough play. Where is he?'

'Who?'

'Rasgon.'

'Dead.' Buffy said. The ringleader drew back a step, shocked. He shook his head, beady eyes searching Buffy's blank face.

'No.' He said.

'I killed him.' Buffy said flatly. 'Last night, in the cemetery. With a Viking short sword.'

'You're being deceptive.'

'I can show you where I buried him.'

The ringleader searched her eyes for a nanosecond longer, almost hopefully, almost desperately. Buffy gave him nothing.

'You can go now.' She said. The demon's face changed. He seemed to go flat.

Then he smiled and said something she couldn't understand. It didn't sound angry, and it didn't even sound like an order, so when the apparently not unconscious demon leapt up and smashed her wrists into shackles with inhuman speed, he did it almost without resistance. Only when the manacles were already secure did she cry out, wrestling with the unforgiving iron.

'Buffy!' She heard Willow yell as one of the other demons shackled her, and Xander's shout of anger, Cornelia's squeal. But Buffy could do nothing; her shackler had thrown her over his shoulder and was carting her roughly toward the middle of the room. She strained against the immovable chains, smashed her knee into the demon's chest, bashing her elbows into his shoulder blade, but nothing worked. She looked around desperately; the others were similarly occupied.

The demons dropped them unceremoniously on the floor in the middle of the room, on top of one another. Buffy's demon dropped her first, so she got the brunt of the fall as well as various elbows and knees to various soft spots when her friends were dropped on top of her.

'Sorry!' Willow wailed automatically when she landed on her friend, squirming so she fell off onto the floor beside Buffy. Without thinking Buffy threw her bound arms around her. Xander righted himself and shifted so that his back was to theirs, keeping the demons behind them at his front.

'What do you think you're going to do?' Buffy yelled at the ringleader, who had stood in one place the whole time and just watched. He had a big lazy grin on his mangled face; Buffy felt her muscles tense with fury.

'Kill you.'

'Like this? What kind of big bad demon are you?'

'An intelligent one. I learned my lesson about a fighting chance when Rasgon nearly killed me. When you get to hell, tell him I did, after all, choose my minions better.'

'Not really.'

Buffy jerked her head around, heart leaping but disbelieving. But it really was him, standing there with his blades at the ready, blue eyes calm. 'Rasgon! How are you alive? I thought I killed you!'

Rasgon's eyes caught hers and seemed almost to smile. 'I'm a very difficult man to kill.'

'Rasgon.' The ringleader's voice was just as level as his. Rasgon graced him with his attention. 'I am glad you are not dead yet. You must take it as praise that I so badly wished to kill you myself.'

Rasgon shrugged. 'I only take it as a compliment when it's important demons who want to kill me. No offence. Well, yes offence.'

The ringleader's ugly lip curled, but he calmed himself quickly. He sneered. 'I take it you still don't know who I am.'

'No, I don't. Tried to find you in the books, but there was no mention of you. Even tried the internet, but I'm no good with that.'

The demon had a harder time of keeping his face cool than before. But he managed it. 'Shall we get started,' he drawled, trying to look utterly bored, 'or would you prefer to blather at me for another hour or so?'

Rasgon laughed. Something in Buffy started at the sound. She knew that laugh. Where did she know that laugh?

'Imitation is the purest form of praise.' He chuckled, and lunged.

Buffy saw four of the demons, including Orello the tracker, slink out the door past the guard demons who were rushing forward to join the fray. All eight remaining, excluding the ringleader, met Rasgon head on, attacking him at the same time. For a brief moment, despite everything, Buffy found herself marvelling at his reflexes and his grace; how could he fight like that, when less than a week ago he'd been at the brink of death?

But later.

'Willow.' She said, to draw her friend's attention. Willow's eyes were wide with fear when she looked at Buffy. 'Can you magick us out of these?'

'I - I -' Willow stuttered.

'I don't want to die!' Cordelia wailed. 'I'm too pretty to die!'

'Cordelia -' Buffy started to snap.

'Agh!' The cry of pain was short, but Buffy's head jerked so fast that her neck cracked all the same. Rasgon had felled five of the demons already, but one of them seemed to have got him in his wounded flank; he favoured that side perceptibly as he fought.

'Willow!' Buffy said. The redhead seemed to snap out of it; she started muttering rapidly under her breath, and her eyes slowly turned black. Buffy got to her feet and leapt up so that she could swing her arms under her and into the front. She ploughed into the closest of the three remaining demons and threw her arms around his neck, strangling him. Several metres away, Rasgon started in on the last two. A streak of orange in the corner of her eye -

'Rasgon!' Buffy tried to warn him, but to late. The ringleader had come out of nowhere, dagger glinting. Rasgon was fading quickly now, but he was still fast enough to twist just enough to face the demon as the blade sunk with a sickening 'squelch' into his chest.

Buffy's demon died in her arms, but she didn't even notice as he slid to the floor. She watched, paralysed, as Rasgon swayed, took a step to steady himself, and buckled. The ringleader took his hand from the hilt and let Rasgon fall; he smiled down at the man kneeling at his feet. With a bellow Buffy started across the room. The huge black-cloaked figures, the leader and his last minions, leaned in over Rasgon, hefting identical twisted daggers in their hands, and then -

And then, quite suddenly, they were the ones on the ground and Rasgon was the one on his feet. He crouched in a fighting stance, breathing hard, cloak settling around him. Two of the demons' own daggers gleamed red in his hands.

Buffy skidded to a halt. At first all she saw was the blue eyes she had come to love - _love? _- wild with rage and adrenaline. But then she realized that she could see the rest of his face; the ringleader, in his final moments, had unmasked the eternally masked man. Slowly, she took in the rest of him.

Behind her, Wil and Xander gasped together.

'Buffy,' croaked Giles, and crumpled.

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**One discrepancy has already been pointed out to me, but the plea still stands: if you spot any more inconsistencies, let me know, because this chap is still raw and relatively unedited. On the plus side, longest post you're ever likely to get out of me again. Cheers!**

**Reviews fuel my muse - any takers?**


	5. One Man, Two Men, Three Men, Four

**Chapter four, then. After this the story will be winding down (man, my stories are short) so I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you lot. This has been my first shot at a story longer than five Word pages, and I've learned a lot from you about what a reader is looking for and what he's not looking for, what sells (figuratively) and what doesn't. From this I'll take knowledge, and the next story I write will be better by far. So, thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing, and thanks for being.**

**~W**

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CHAPTER FOUR: ONE MAN, TWO MEN, THREE MEN, FOUR

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Buffy ran to Rasgon, shouting his name, and turned him over. Giles' face looked up at her, eyes open.

'Buffy,' he said again. She could see blood at the corner of his mouth.

'Giles.' She tried to say, but her voice cracked; she tried to touch his face, but the shackles jerked her left hand right along with her right.

'Somebody get these things _off of me!_' She cried, frantically trying to claw them off herself. Two hands seized hers and, fumbling with a key, freed her. Buffy hurled the cursed things away, smashing something across the room, but she had already returned her whole attention to Giles. She gathered him against her, nearly bursting into tears when he let out a ragged cry of pain, but she had to think. Had to think fast.

They couldn't stay here. There had been a lot of noise; she could hear sirens on the way.

But wasn't that good? An ambulance -

Wouldn't come fast enough. Giles had minutes. Buffy pressed her hand into the dagger-wound and called for Willow. Her friend was sobbing silently, but came and knelt on Giles' other side.

'Willow, there's a little silver marble in the pouch on his belt. I need you to get it, okay?'

Willow nodded, unable to say anything. Hesitating only a moment, she reached her hand into the little leather bag and drew out the Farrden charm. She let out a little gasp when she felt the magic.

'Tell it to take us to Giles' flat.'

'I can't.' Willow choked out. 'Giles did the spell, he has to say it. And - and if he does, it will only take him -'

'Circle.' Giles said. Somewhere behind Buffy, Xander tore away into the bowels of the Magic Box. He was back in less than a minute, but in that small time Buffy had to sit there with her fingers on Giles' pulse, feeling it getting weak, had to listen to the rasp in his shallow breathing that meant his lung had been punctured. She was glad when Tara burst back into the open, dumping sand in a haphazard circle around everyone.

'Stay awake, Giles,' Buffy told him. 'You have to tell it where to take us.' Giles looked at her, but his blue eyes seemed less intense, less there. 'Giles, stay awake!'

'Y-you're as… as bad as Philip.' He breathed, not even using his voice. He cracked a dry smile; the blood trickled over his lip.

'I think I got it right.' Xander panted, clutching a container of sand like the one they'd used before. Willow seized it and drew a lopsided ring, dropping it at her feet when she was done.

'Giles.' Buffy cued him the instant the vase fell.

'H-home…'

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It was a rough ride. Briefly Buffy wondered how Giles could stand it; as soon as Giles gave his order they were sucked into what felt like a tornado, only there was no sound, no light, no feeling, no nothing. But she could sense things: the presence of the others, the shock they were experiencing at the sudden lack of everything; she could sense their fear. But worst of all, she could sense all the holes in Giles, could sense his heart's struggle to get oxygen to a lung that was filling with blood, his left lung's struggle to compensate for its brother. She could sense his pain.

'Oh, God.' She gasped, but her voice was silent in the void. 'Oh, God, Giles.'

And then, suddenly, they were assaulted by the world. Sound and light and feeling flooded over them all at once, and they fell from about halfway to the ceiling. Each of them let out his own croak of surprise when he felt himself falling; Buffy instinctively twisted herself in midair so she would take the brunt of Giles' fall.

Cordelia let out a strangled noise, scrambling up from their thrashing pile and vomiting.

'Xander,' Buffy nodded at Cordelia, and without a word he stayed with her while Buffy pulled one of Giles's arms over her own shoulder and made a beeline for the sofa. Willow took his other arm and tried to help. She kept his head from falling back while Buffy lowered him onto the cushions. Buffy tore the leather tunic open to get at the wounds, wiped away the blood on the newest one just long enough to gage its depth before it welled up again; it looked tiny, just an inch long and millimetres wide, but she had seen the dagger penetrate clear to the hilt. She pressed the heel of her palm against the deceptive injury to quell the bleeding while she quickly assessed the rest. There was the month-old gash beneath his seventh rib, now just a thin white scar; the stab wound where Angel's sword had gone straight through his chest, which she knew to be only five days old. But it had already scabbed over, the skin already knitting itself back together.

'Magic.' Willow said hollowly, putting a hand on Giles' bare shoulder. 'Somebody healed him.'

'But not all the way.'

Willow shook her head. 'Not all the way. He's still… oh, my God, Buffy, whatever did this went straight through him. He's got a… a big old _hole_, and it's just been sealed up at the ends.' With this, Willow started to cry.

And that was Buffy's fault. Her heart rose up to block up her throat, but she swallowed hard.

'Can you heal him?' Willow's expression froze in fear. She looked at Buffy, shaking her head hard.

'I don't know how to heal! Not something like this! It's too much - too much to -' Willow cried desperately, staring at Giles. Giles touched her hand, mouthing the words, 'it's all right.'

Buffy nearly went mad. It's all right? It's all right? But she held herself in check.

'Yeah, you can.' Buffy told Willow. She seized her best friend around the shoulders and hugged her like she was the only rock in a raging river. 'It's Giles.'

Willow stopped crying, though the tremors that wracked her continued. Buffy pulled away to see that her friend was still terrified, but her face had hardened into determination. Her eyes went slowly back. Buffy nodded and gave Willow one last squeeze. She went to move away from the sofa, to give Willow room, but something held her there. Her eyes, without her permission, fell to his, and she stared at him for a nanosecond, frozen with fear. Giles did that half-smile she'd always loved, the one that always made her heart go _thud_. He offered her his free hand and she took it. His grip was strong.

'Don't be scared, Buffy.' He forced his voice to work, and they did for the first four words. His next words cracked into silence. She knew what they were anyway. 'It's all right.'

It's all right. It's all right. The tears that had been burning at the corners of her eyes finally spilled down; she leaned over Giles and kissed him. Then she fled to the other end of the room.

Her friends didn't seem to register the shock of the kiss. They were too blown over already. Xander's and Cordelia's eyes were locked on Giles as Willow took both his hands and began to chant. Buffy could swear Xander's lips moved in the mantra too.

Giles was looking at Buffy, and Buffy was looking at Giles. They stared at each other over the witch's head, neither moving, neither speaking. Giles didn't even smile again to comfort her. There was something new between them, something that had been dormant for a long time, something that had woken with the kiss. It connected them like some tingling, invisible umbilical chord that seemed to make her heart swell despite everything. Buffy thought she knew what it was; the knowledge was like a bright light, like moonlight, penetrating the violent storm in her head.

'I love you.' She told him, her voice failing her completely.

'I love you.' Giles mouthed at the same time. And then the light in his eyes died.

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Willow didn't seem to realize it when it happened. Xander might have; his mouthing froze for an instant before he continued, this time in a forceful hiss as though, if he whispered as loud as he could, it would be enough. Buffy stared at Giles' glassy eyes, now staring through her instead of at her, not quite comprehending.

Giles was dead.

Giles was dead?

Rasgon was dead too.

Giles was dead.

She was dead too, then. Something was filling her, something she couldn't fathom, something… empty. Buffy gazed at dead blue eyes over the head of a witch who chanted on fruitlessly, and knew what it was to die.

She almost didn't notice it when the light went on again, but it was hard to miss him sitting up and coughing hard into his sleeve. Blue smoke drifted around his hand.

'Ugh.' He made a face. 'Blimey, magic has a bad aftertaste.'

Buffy burst into tears.

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Giles fell asleep soon after he stopped coughing. Willow flew over to Buffy and threw her arms around her. They cried together. Xander draped a throw blanket over Giles while Cordelia made tea in the kitchen.

'I know these British guys.' She said. 'They always want tea after nearly dying.'

'Not like that,' Buffy said when Cordelia went to measure leaves into the boiling pot.

'You have to dump it in the sink and start again.'

'What?' Cordelia said, her eyebrows raised in that purely Cordelian you're-insane look.

'It's the way he always does it.' Cordelia blinked in a snide sort of way, but did as bid.

'Are you okay now?' Buffy asked Willow. The redhead made a watery smile and wiped her eyes dry. Buffy hugged her briefly and then got up. Xander sat down next to Willow and stroked her hair while Willow buried her head in his chest.

Giles was sleeping peacefully. He didn't snore, she noticed. His breathing was deep and even. Tentatively, she touched his hand. It was warm.

She stared at him for a long time. At first she could only think about the last half hour - that single instant when she'd seen him die, the words he'd mouthed just before that, the feel of blood struggling to escape the pressure of her hand. But slowly, she started to think about other things.

He was still wearing Rasgon's clothes, still wearing the leather shirt she had torn earlier, the leather slacks, the cloak. She pulled the blankets back a little. When she looked at his body she saw Rasgon there, in the pale, hard chest and the fine hairs and the scars. This was Rasgon. This was Rasgon's body.

And then she looked at his face and all she could see was Giles. The shape of his lips and nose and jaw, those belonged to Giles. The line between his eyes, that belonged to Giles.

And then he opened his eyes, those deep, light blue eyes, and those belonged to both men. Buffy shook her head at him as he watched her with an unfathomable mix of sadness and resignation and happiness. She couldn't understand. He took her hand.

'Rasgon isn't real, Buffy.' He whispered sadly. 'Rasgon is these clothes, the glyph scratched into silver. The rest… the rest is just me.'

'And who are you?'

That seemed to make him sadder, but she could see in his eyes that he understood. He made that little half-smile. 'I'm Rupert Giles.'

'Are you… are you my Watcher?'

'No. The Watcher is only a part of me.'

'And what's the rest?'

'Me.'

'I thought another part of you was Rasgon.'

'Rasgon is… a mask. He's a name I used to keep you from noticing that I… noticing what I was doing.'

'Fighting.' Buffy said. Instantly she remembered what Rasgon looked like when he was fighting - remembered the reflexes, the grace. It clicked that it had been Giles fighting like that. Her eyes widened. 'How did you _do_ that?'

Giles laughed at her incredulity. 'It's hard to explain.'

'Well, you owe me anyway.' At this his smile faded.

'Yes.' He said. 'Yes, I suppose I do. But let it wait.' His eyes flicked over her head. That was when Buffy realized that they were alone. The room was empty; everyone had made themselves tactfully scarce. But the point was obvious: wait till everyone leaves.

But that wasn't going to happen for a while. No one wanted to leave Giles right now. They set up camp in the living room while Giles changed clothes, arrayed on the floor around the sofa with drinks and snacks that had appeared as if by magic ('It's not really personal gain.' insisted Willow). Buffy had taken up residence on the cushion beside Giles, who sat cross-legged on top of the blankets. They talked and bickered through three movies. Willow had insisted on Pride and Prejudice and Xander had found the complete set of James Bond.

'He watches James Bond!' Xander cried happily, 'He really is British!'

Giles sighed long-sufferingly, but did nothing to defend himself while the rest of the room guffawed.

At some point during the night Giles got up and padded into another room. Buffy thought nothing of it and continued watching the movie.

'_I admire your courage, Miss…' _said Bond_._

'_Trench. Sylvia Trench. I admire your luck, Mr.…'__**'**__Bond. James Bond.'_

But when he didn't come back after ten minutes, Buffy got up to follow him. She looked around in the dark and didn't see him. Where had he gone? Puzzled, she opened the back door.

Giles was leaning against the wall with one hand in his pocket. With the other he held a cigarette to his lips. He caught her eye and his hand jerked as if to toss the cigarette, but he stopped himself. He inhaled deliberately. Blew the smoke out slowly.

'You're Ripper again.' Buffy kept her voice level.

'I've always been Ripper.'

'No, you haven't. You used to be my Watcher.'

'I'm still your Watcher, Buffy. A part of me has always been and always will be your Watcher.'

'And the rest of you isn't?'

'No.'

'You're going to have to explain that.'

Giles' eyes flicked to the door, but he seemed to resign himself.

'It's complicated -'

'Don't go trying to -' Buffy erupted, but Giles put a finger to her lips.

'Listen to me.' He said quietly. He stepped away again so he could take another drag from his cigarette without blowing smoke in her face. After a moment of thought, he took a breath.

'It's complicated, what the Watcher Academy does to train its students. Sometimes there are students who… have a gift for Watching, but… lack the will to immerse themselves completely into the lifestyle.'

'Watching is a lifestyle?'

'It's more than that. To be a Watcher, one has to be a very specific type of person. Not only must they be quick learners and resourceful, creative, bigger-picture thinkers, but they also have to be… aloof. They have to present a very explicitly defined face to their Slayer: "_Mentor, and nothing more_." In school a prospective Watcher learns how to do this. He or she learns to be unapproachable in any respect but those pertaining to demons and training. He learns to send the right signals and cut off the wrong ones, he learns to become the librarian who has all the answers and loves only books. He becomes less than a man.'

'Why?'

'Because… it has been known to happen… a Slayer is usually Called at a very young age, an age at which they are very fragile vulnerable to influence. And they usually live only a very short time. Sometimes… the relationship between Watcher and Slayer can become something more.'

Buffy was floored. Memories flooded her all at once.

'_I love you.' She told him, her voice failing her completely._

'_I love you.' Giles mouthed at the same time. _

… _standing there in the dark and looking around as though hopelessly lost…_

'_What, am I not allowed to dress comfortably when I'm not a Watcher?'_

'_Well, no. I mean, yes, but it's kind of – weird – in an – okay – sort of way.'_

'…_there's something about his eyes.'_

…_hand against hand against mask, neither set of eyes moving from the other…_

…_the emotion there was too complex to read at all. Yet she thought she saw..._

…_riveted, as his muscles rippled beneath several light scars…_

…_Not a bright blue, but a deep blue, intelligent and sort of x-ray-like. Almost like he could see straight through her…_

…'_A mysterious one…'_

Giles caught her expression, but kept talking. 'This has been known to get both Watcher and Slayer killed. So the prospective Watchers are trained to be detached, remote.

'But there are some students who don't want to give up who they perceive themselves to be. They don't want to be the librarian with a British flag stuck up their asses, don't want to be the one with his nose stuck in a book and whose only fighting skill manifests in training his Slayer.

'Usually, when the Academy comes across such a student, they let him go. He's free to do with his life as he pleases. But in rare cases, these rebellious students have a gift for Watching, like I said before. In those cases, the student is too valuable to be let go.

'The student is given a ring at graduation.' Giles pulled his plain silver one from his pocket and held it out, staring at it as he spoke. 'It looks just like the rings given to every graduate, except that it's been spelled.'

'Spelled?'

'Magicked. When the new Watcher puts on such a ring, the spell… filters out the Watcher qualities, which are the less dominant ones, but which still exist in the Watcher without the ring. The ring… brings the Watcher characteristics to the surface.'

'What… what happens to the rest?'

'Locked up, so to speak. Repressed so that the Watcher can do his job.' Giles closed his fist around the ring, knuckles white. He took a drag from his cigarette, apparently only just remembering it existed. Buffy was quiet.

That explained a lot. It explained why all the Watchers she'd met had always been so alike, and it explained how Giles could go from the teenaged malcontent she'd seen in Ripper to the 'librarian with the British flag stuck up his ass.'

'And… and when you take the ring off? Does the Watcher get repressed instead?'

'No. The rest just… joins the Watcher at the surface.'

'Is that why there's such a difference in the way you fight?'

'Meaning the Watcher's taking it with a splutter and my actual fighting? Yeah.'

Buffy almost giggled. Giles smiled.

'And everything else? The clothes, the accent, the - smoking - are all different because you're like two different people?'

'The American accent was false. An effort to keep you from recognizing me. But, yes. In so many words.'

'But you're both Giles?'

'Yes.'

Buffy let out a long breath and slid down the wall. Her head hurt.

'This is really complicated.'

'I'm sorry.' Giles said. He opened the fist that still held the Watcher's ring, stared at it as he too slid down the wall to sit next to her. 'I could -'

Buffy snatched the ring out of his hand and threw it with all her might. Giles let out a startled cry and watched it disappear into the night. He looked at Buffy, who glared. A smile pulled at his lips, and he let out a laugh.

'I might need that later.'

'No you won't. Never again.'

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**Reviews fuel my muse; any takers?**


	6. Epilogue

**Right then, this is the final chapter. That was bible-bloody short, wasn't it? Thank you all for the feedback and for reading, it was a brilliant run.**

**~ W**

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She got used to the changes gradually. For the first few days after she'd tossed the ring, Giles had continued to wear his tweed to school. When she asked him why, he admitted that he'd thought it might be easier for both of them.

'Why?'

'Well, you've never seen me wear jeans to school. I thought it might be… discomfiting.'

'What about you?'

'Well, I've never seen me wear jeans to school either!'

'Giles, wear the jeans. The tweed was bad when I thought you were just a librarian. Now it's just ludicrous.'

Giles wore the jeans.

He also kept his Ripper accent, and the earring. He didn't smoke during school, but there was an ashtray on his veranda now.

'You know those will kill you, right?' She commented one day, bobbing her head to one of his old records. It wasn't anything like what she was used to, but it wasn't bad. 'Anthem', it was called, in some musical called _Chess_.

'I don't care.' He said drowsily, eyes closed and head back to catch the sun. 'I've missed them like _hell_.'

'You miss hell?'

'Well, never been there myself. But people keep telling me it's truly a beautiful terrain.'

Oh yeah, and he had a sense of humour.

'So what am I supposed to call you now?'

'Come again?' Giles stretched in his chair and yawned. Flicked his cigarette and straightened up to look at her.

'Well, you're like three different people. There's Giles the Watcher, there's Ripper the - mostly normal guy - and there's Rasgon. Which one am I supposed to use?'

'Why not just keep calling me Giles?'

'Giles is my Watcher. Book guy, answer guy, father figure guy. And you're… not.'

Giles' lip twitched. 'What do you think you should call me?'

'I could -' Buffy cut herself off before she could say it out loud, standing abruptly and putting her elbows on the veranda rail. Above them, clouds drifted in front of the sun. They hadn't broached this subject yet, the one about… Buffy didn't finish the thought now, but it had seeped into the crevices of her mind over the past few weeks as she watched him change.

She had wondered, early on, lying awake one night in bed, if the changes were why she'd begun to love him. After all, that was when she'd started to notice things; it was only when she'd heard his loose, not-librarian accent; only when she'd heard him laugh; only when she'd seen him fight like some immortal predator in Rasgon's cape and cowl. How could she not have noticed if it had begun before that, if it had begun with the tweed fuddy-duddy with that half-smile and those funny British habits? Was it possible to fall in love without realizing it? Was it possible to miss something so big?

And then she thought that people did it all the time. She saw people doing it at school, noticed it when a girl smiled shyly and bit her lip and stared unabashed when the object of her affection wasn't looking, and then snorted incredulously when her friends called her on it. Yes, people did it all the time.

But if she was in love with Giles - her heart did that _thud _thing at such a life-changing idea - why didn't she stop when he changed? How could she love a Giles who smoked cigarettes and wore a silver earring when it was the old Giles, her Watcher, that she'd fallen in love with? If those little things that made him Giles changed, made him who he was, what was it she was still clutching to? What was it, when all that went away, that kept her here?

That was when it occurred to her that love didn't seem to be a reasonable thing. Maybe you didn't love the little things; maybe they just helped. Maybe you loved the person, no matter what changed.

'Buffy?' Giles said. Buffy took a moment to come back to Earth, steeled herself, faced him.

'I could call you Rupert.' She said it with no hesitation or disquiet whatever.

His expression changed. He stood too and crossed the veranda to the door. His guitar stood there against the wall; he stared at it. Buffy stared at him. His white t-shirt rippled against his back in the breeze, his hair ruffled with it. He put his hands in his jeans pockets. Clouds rolled over the sun, pitching them alternately into sun or shade every few seconds.

'This wasn't supposed to happen.' Giles shook his head, his back still to her. 'It was exactly the reason I wore the ring.'

'The ring was wrong. The Academy was wrong to make you wear it.'

'They didn't make me wear it, Buffy. I chose to. After Eyghon, I _wanted _the relative safety of being a Watcher, more than I wanted anything.'

'It was wrong.'

'That's not the point.'

'What's the point?'

'The point was to protect you!' Giles rounded on her. 'I wore that damned ring to keep from falling in love with you, to keep from losing the objective and getting you killed!'

Buffy was stunned. 'Falling in love,' he'd said.

'That's… that's why you invented Rasgon.'

Giles's shoulders fell. 'Not at first. At first it was… just to be free. To have a few hours of being myself and not the Watcher. But I… kept wanting to see you. Kept wanting to show you that I was a man, that I could fight and hold my own and wasn't just a breathing encyclopaedia. Even if I couldn't tell you who I was under that mask.'

They looked at each other for a long time. Giles searched her eyes for reaction.

'Rupert it is, then.' Buffy said. Giles blinked and shook his head.

'Buffy, no.'

'Listen, it's not… it's not one-sided. I think… I think maybe I feel the same way.'

Giles was very still. He didn't seem to want to hope for it. 'What?' He said quietly.

…'_A mysterious one…'_

…_Not a bright blue, but a deep blue, intelligent and sort of x-ray-like. Almost like he could see straight through her…_

…_riveted, as his muscles rippled beneath several light scars…_

…_Rasgon's eyes opened again and locked with hers, but the emotion there was too complex to read at all. Yet she thought she saw..._

…_hand against hand against mask, neither set of eyes moving from the other…_

'…_there's something about his eyes.'_

'_What, am I not allowed to dress comfortably when I'm not a Watcher?' _

'_Well, no. I mean, yes, but it's kind of – weird – in an – okay – sort of way.'_

… _standing there in the dark and looking around as though hopelessly lost…_

'I love you,' she told him, getting it out in a rush before her voice failed her completely. Giles shook his head, eyes wide as though he didn't believe her. 'I love you,' she told him again.

Giles took a step toward her, hesitated, reached out a hand. Gently, as though afraid to break her, or perhaps afraid to break some illusion, he touched her cheek. His hand was warm and dry against her skin.

Slowly, giving her time to change her mind, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

That was all she needed.

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'What about Angel?' Willow asked tentatively. Buffy nodded.

'I haven't forgotten about him. I just…' She didn't finish.

'Don't know how to tell him?' Willow finished for her. Buffy nodded again. Willow pulled her pink cat pyjama-clad legs under her and hugged a pillow, reminding Buffy of sleepovers and movie nights. She felt a pang of longing.

Willow didn't ask her if she intended to talk to Angel at all. Instead she asked the question she hadn't gotten a chance to ask since that night in the Magic Box. 'What happened, Buffy?'

Buffy looked at her, all red hair and big eyes and understanding best-friend expression. She looked down at her lap, and then at Willow's bedspread. Then she locked her eyes with Willow's and told her everything. About the spell that worked, about how she'd had to kill him anyway because, instinctively, she'd known that the portal wouldn't close without some offering of blood.

How he'd said her name.

'And then a couple of weeks ago he just sort of… appeared again. Just randomly, while I was out patrolling one night. He was like an animal, all wild and bumpy-faced. I… didn't know what to think, or feel, or anything.'

'Do you still love him?' Willow asked gently. Buffy looked at her. By this time they were both sprawled on their stomachs and supporting themselves by their elbows and the pillows. Willow hadn't said anything yet, letting Buffy tell her story with rapt attention. Buffy thought fleetingly that she'd probably have gone mad ages ago if not for her best friend, and then she felt a wave of relief that she was finally opening up to Willow again.

'I think I do. But there was too much that happened before he came back. I thought I'd lost him, so I did that thing you do when you really lose someone. I grieved him. I put him behind me because I thought if I didn't, if I didn't let go of him, then I would let the guilt and the wishing and missing him kill me. So I… let him go. And now…'

She trailed off, pulling at a loose thread in her pillow.

'Now you still love him, but only like you would love a memory.'

Buffy looked back up at her and Willow looked at her. For a minute Buffy thought she was going to cry, with those words hanging between them like words from some tragic love ballad. Then Willow cracked a smile. Buffy looked at her, incredulous, until she explained.

'You always go for the sexy older guy.'

Buffy burst into something half uncontrollable laughter and half irrepressible tears.

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She went to see Angel that night. He was in the middle of a Tai Chi exercise, bare-chested and focussed. She didn't join him, as she once might have. Soon he came to the end of the form and reached for his shirt.

'Hey.' He said. But he didn't come to her like he usually would have. Maybe he sensed why she was here.

'Hey.' She said. She didn't look at him. For a moment they stayed like that, standing apart in the midst of a swirling silence.

'I told the others.' She said finally. He nodded. Thumbed his shirt, still in his hands. 'Well, I told Willow. I'll talk to the others soon.'

'Giles?' Angel asked. The name sounded so incongruous coming from him. The name of the man she loved, on the lips of her former lover.

Former. The word was so final. Buffy didn't like it.

But he'd said it. The reason she was here. It was time to tell Angel. She'd steeled herself for this, run over the scene in her mind, gone over all the possible reactions he might give.

'Angel, I think…' she started, but then her voice fell flat, like a spent autumn leaf drifting into the void between them. She'd sent him to hell. He'd come back wild, barely human. She didn't know what that place had done to him, and it was her fault, whatever it was, and how could she possibly --

'There's nothing left.' Angel said, and Buffy's head jerked up. Angel looked at her with that quiet intensity that had once captured her like nothing else could. She found that it had no effect now. That thought made her reel. Angel went on, quiet, sounding almost his age. 'You think there's nothing left of what we had. And I think… I think you're right.'

For a moment, ridiculously, she felt stung. And then relief flooded over her. 'You do?'

'I was in hell, Buffy. For a hundred years; I never lost track of the time. I scratched the days into the wall.'

Buffy imagined it. Imagined him hunched over like an animal, like he'd been for the first few days after she'd found him in the woods, scratching a mark onto a dank cave wall with a rock. She imagined all the marks he would have made at the end of a hundred years.

A hundred years.

Angel continued. 'I thought, for the longest time, that the only reason I was still sane was because of you. Because I remembered you. I used to focus on you, the way you smiled or the way your hair looked in the moonlight. But it was a… a memory I was clinging to, not you. I'm sorry, I never meant to, but I… I…'

'Let me go.' Buffy finished for him in a whisper. Angel looked at her and she looked at him, and for a long second they shared something. Buffy realised she wasn't sad. This was the end of something, and she would miss it.

But she had Rupert. She had Rupert and Ripper and Rasgon and Giles. She would be okay. Better than okay.

When she left the mansion the sun had already begun to rise. She walked away from Angel and all that they had had, and the cool wind blew at her back as though urging her forward, pushing her toward what she had now. The grey morning turned slowly to a brilliant melange of pink and red and orange, bringing everything to life around her, and Buffy walked into the day anticipating the strong arms that would take her in when she got where she was going.

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**END**


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